


Enrosque

by Arithanas



Category: Dirty Dancing (1987)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Tango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baby discovered she like to lead and life is better when you dance in front to the mirrors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enrosque

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/gifts).



Baby felt how the tight bun weighed in the back of her head.

She recalled perfectly the warm caress of the stage-lights, the radiant blindness of the stage, and the silent but awed presence of the audience.

Years had passed, but she still felt the anxious excitement, the joyous fright of dancing on front of people. This time, people will actively judge her and her dance.

“Please, close your eyes, Baby.”

Frances smiled. Penny was one of the only persons who still called her that name. In her lips that dated nickname was a caress. With closed eyes Frances Houseman, the South American regional manager of that big name firm, abandoned her face to the cares of Penny's wise fingers.

The brushes stroked her eyelids; the sharp point of the pencil designed the winged line of her eyes. Penny had been doing her make-up for the last events and the way she sculpted Baby's weary features was a testimony of her affections.

Only a lover could bring out the beauty of her hardened face.

Penny dragged the blush brush over Baby's cheekbones one last time before she whispered: “Your war paint is done. You better knock them off their chairs.”

Baby smiled and opened her eyes. Penny gave her a worried look and Baby stole a kiss from her lips.

“Way to be professional.”

“I'm not professional today. I'm amateur in all the senses of the word.”

Frances's light reply didn't remove the crease on Penny's forehead. She was betting on Baby's ability to dance like no one in New York could. The stakes were unbelievable high.

Baby rest her head on Penny's arm. Two years she had seen Penny struggle with her little studio in the Spanish Harlem, she was not about to lost the place where they found each other and carved a place for their love.

Another kiss.

The caress was softer this time. Penny stopped resisting and reciprocated as Baby wanted to ease the butterflies in her troubled belly.

Baby felt how Penny’s fingers wrapped around hers, as they used to do when they both started to dance in her little studio. Butterflies fluttered inside Frances those times too, but it was the sort of hunger that food couldn’t sate.

They didn't seek for each other. Their love was a gift set by chance and they took it with light heart and lighter feet.

Dance was not in Frances's life for years. After that summer in the Catskills Frances had found little time to dance; Peace Corps were not a fertile ground for dancers. The spark of that liberty she found twirling on her feet was stolen by the surmountable banality of life.

When Frances returned home the bleak monotony of a paid work almost destroyed her dancing spirit. She knew something was not working in her life. The boring work in an office was not what she was waiting that long time ago in the Catskills, but it put bread on the table and butter on said bread. She couldn't complain, but her life was lacking.

Frances’s doctor prescribed her a new hobby to take her mind out of the work of commerce and international relationships and to lift the dark cloud of depression from her head.

Of course, dance was the first thing on her mind and she couldn't believe her good luck when she peered into the small dance studio near her work place.

That friendly face ―that unmistakable blond hair― announced Frances that the sprite of her youth had just visited her. And her grin couldn't be wider when she raised her hand and waved at Penny Johnson from the street.

They went to drink a coffee of course.

They made polite conversation.

No. Penny had not heard of Johnny in years either.

Yes, Lisa was married now, with two babies. Some Ivy League boy she met while she was visiting her sister.

Penny was not married and by the tone of her voice, there were few things farther from her mind. The dance studio was her life.

Oh, no, Frances was not married either. There was no time for her in a world where currency fluctuates so fleetingly.

Penny was not in a position to turn down a paying student; Frances was not able to commit to a strict schedule.

They worked it together. Some days, Francis turned in in time and danced the same salon selections with old gentlemen; some days, Penny opened the shop late and them both danced new, modern tunes in front of the mirrors.

Those nights Frances slept better, smiling at the chance of dance again between Penny’s arms.

But life had a way to work against the best circumstances. Frances couldn’t turn down her boss when he offered her to manage the office in Buenos Aires for a year, implying her sacrifice would go without reward.

They danced in front of the mirrors one last time, crying in face of the unexpected. A country in shambles was not place for someone like Baby.

As customary, if you say ‘you can’t do it’ to Frances Houseman, she will prove you wrong. Buenos Aires was no worse than those villages in Laos, and people were far more amenable that that in New York, but by then dance was in her bones.

Frances returned New York with a case full of vinyl records and a wonderful dance that defeat the rigid salon dancing. She couldn’t wait to teach Penny how to embed herself into France’s dance space.  

Life, such a bother…

Penny lost her place and had to move but even in East Harlem she was struggling to make end meets. Frances didn’t ask, she moved in and chipped in with the rent.

They danced every night, drunk in the sound of the bandoneon, letting their legs intertwine, bending their backs and let their hips grind to the point of surrender.

This new dance would be Penny’s studio salvation, if the boy Penny selected for the competence was able to keep up with Baby’s steps.

 “Don’t worry. I have this learned to the last details.”

“I’m not worried, Baby.” Penny smiled and kissed her again. The touch was brief but meaningful. “I just want for a way to be there with you.”

Frances got up, shone her shoes on her hose and beamed a smile to her best girl.

“We will compensate later.” Frances raised her head and head to the door. “In front of the mirrors.”


End file.
